Chapter 2
2
EMILIA
T he sound of Adrianna’s laughter floated through the air, light and carefree, a stark contrast to the knot of anguish twisting in my chest. She was radiant, her dress shimmering under the golden glow of the string lights strewn across the garden, her smile so genuine it made my heart ache. In the middle of this orchestrated chaos—this marriage of alliances and obligations—Adrianna had found happiness.
And here I was, fighting to keep my composure while my world quietly fell apart.
The champagne in my hand was warm now, the bubbles long since gone, but I clung to the glass like it was a lifeline. The alcohol had dulled the edges of my pain, but only slightly. It wasn’t enough to erase the memory of Dante’s voice, sharp and cutting, or the way his eyes had burned with something I couldn’t quite name—anger, frustration, maybe even regret.
I took another sip, the liquid bitter on my tongue, and forced a smile as one of Adrianna’s distant cousins approached me, his words lost in the haze of my thoughts. I nodded politely, murmuring something noncommittal, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying the argument in the garden over and over again.
You’re mine.
His words had been a claim, a declaration—but they felt like a curse. Dante had always been possessive, always teetering on the edge of control, but tonight... Tonight, he’d crossed a line. The bruises on my arm were proof of that, faint but undeniable, a physical reminder of the storm that raged inside him.
And even now, with the sting of his grip still fresh in my memory, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him.
“Emilia!” Adrianna’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, her hand brushing against my arm as she appeared at my side. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with joy, and for a moment, I envied her. I envied her ability to find happiness in the midst of all this.
“There you are,” she said, her smile warm and genuine. “I was starting to think you’d disappeared.”
“Just needed some air,” I lied, forcing a smile as I gestured to the champagne in my hand. “And maybe another drink.”
Adrianna laughed, her gaze flicking to the nearly empty glass. “Careful, or you’ll be the one needing rescuing tonight.”
I managed a weak laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “Don’t worry about me. Tonight’s about you.”
Her smile softened, and for a moment, I thought she might press further, might ask why my laughter didn’t quite reach my eyes. But before she could, one of her new in-laws called her name, waving her over to join a group near the dance floor.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” she said, squeezing my arm gently before disappearing into the crowd.
I watched her go, the knot in my chest tightening as the weight of the evening settled over me like a shroud. The music was too loud, the laughter too bright, the champagne too bitter. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t stand here and pretend like I wasn’t breaking apart at the seams.
Setting my glass down on a nearby table, I made my way toward the edge of the garden, weaving through the crowd with a practiced smile and polite nods. When I reached the shadows cast by the towering hedges, I pulled out my phone and texted Adrianna.
Feeling a little under the weather—too much champagne, I think. Heading home early. Love you.
The lie burned as I hit send, but I couldn’t face her. Not like this.
A driver was waiting for me at the estate’s entrance, his expression neutral as he opened the car door and helped me inside. The ride home was a blur, the city lights flashing past the windows as I stared out at the world beyond, my chest tightening with every mile that brought me closer to the solitude of my apartment.
By the time I stepped through the door, the composure I’d fought so hard to maintain had crumbled entirely. My chest tightened, the weight I’d been carrying all day suddenly too heavy to bear. My breaths came faster, shallow and uneven, as my vision blurred. Warm streaks slid down my cheeks before I even realized I was crying. I wiped at them with trembling hands, but it was useless—more followed, spilling over in a torrent I couldn’t control.
My knees buckled, and I lurched toward the bathroom, gripping the edge of the door frame as if it would steady the storm inside me.The cold tile bit into my feet, grounding me enough to keep standing. The mirror loomed in front of me, catching my red, swollen eyes and the dark streaks of mascara carved into my cheeks. I couldn’t look at myself for long.
My hand found the faucet, twisting it on until water splashed against the porcelain sink, the sound filling the silence of the room. I leaned over it, gripping the edges so tightly my knuckles turned white, my whole body trembling with the force of the sobs I tried to choke back. My shoulders shook, and I pressed my forehead to the cool glass of the mirror, hoping it might somehow soothe the ache clawing its way through my chest.
But it didn’t. Nothing did. The tears kept coming, relentless, as if they’d been waiting all day for this moment to break free.
I turned on the shower, the sound of the water cascading against the tiles drowning out the sobs that wracked my body. My dress pooled at my feet, forgotten, as I stepped under the spray, the scalding heat searing my skin but doing nothing to ease the ache in my chest.
The fight replayed in my mind, every word, every glance, every touch. Dante’s voice, rough and raw, telling me I mattered more than anything else in his life. The way his hand had tightened around my arm, his grip firm enough to leave bruises but not enough to break me. The way he’d walked away, leaving me standing there with my heart in my throat and tears threatening to spill.
I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, the water washing away the salt of my tears but not the heaviness in my chest. I hated him. I hated him for making me feel this way, for pulling me into his world and then pushing me out again. But more than that, I hated myself for still wanting him, for still aching for him even after everything.
My fingers traced over my arms, every inch of my skin feeling raw, scrubbed too hard in a futile attempt to erase the memory of the day. The steam faded, replaced by a creeping chill. I stayed under the water until it seeped into my bones, leaving me trembling—not just from the cold—before I finally turned it off.
The bed sat waiting, its wide expanse feeling impossibly empty as I climbed in. The sheets were cool, the fabric soft, but it offered no comfort. I curled into myself, pulling the blanket up to my chin, and for a moment, I thought the tears were done.
But they weren’t.
They came again, slipping silently down my cheeks, soaking into the pillow beneath me. An unbearable pressure swelled in my chest, the sobs too quiet to be heard but powerful enough to leave me trembling. I buried my face into the blanket, as if hiding from the world might make it all disappear, but the emotions refused to be ignored.
I cried until my body gave out, until the exhaustion of the evening dragged me under like a riptide. My eyes burned, my throat raw, but even as sleep claimed me, there was no reprieve.
In the haze of restless dreams, he was there—Dante. His voice a low whisper, wrapping around me like smoke, impossible to escape. His touch wasn’t real, but it lingered on my skin all the same, a phantom sensation that made my heart race and my stomach twist.
When I woke hours later, the room was still dark, the faint light of dawn just beginning to creep through the edges of the curtains. A dull ache lingered within me, every breath a reminder of the pain that hadn’t faded. It sat there, deep and unyielding, a constant reminder of the man who had turned my world upside down and left me to gather the broken pieces he’d scattered in his wake.
Morning came too quickly, dragging me back into the harsh light of reality. The faint glow of dawn seeped through the cracks in my curtains, painting the room in muted shades of gray. My body felt heavy, like I’d been weighed down by the remnants of last night’s tears. My head throbbed in sync with my heartbeat, and my throat burned, raw and stripped bare.
I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to face the day. But the world didn’t stop spinning just because my heart was in pieces.
The shower had erased the tears, but the bruises remained. Faint purple marks bloomed on my arm—a cruel signature of Dante’s grip. I traced them lightly with my fingertips, my stomach twisting as I replayed the moment in my mind. His hand on my arm, his voice rough and desperate, the storm in his eyes as he’d tried to keep me from walking away.
I hated that even now, even after everything, I couldn’t bring myself to be angry at him. Not really. Because beneath the anger and the hurt, there was something else—something raw and insistent that refused to let go. I loved him. God help me, I loved him. And that was the cruelest part of all.
A sharp knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts. For a fleeting moment, I thought it might be him—that he’d come to apologize, to explain, to tell me he’d made a mistake. But the second knock came, louder, and reality sank in. Dante didn’t apologize or explain. And he sure as hell didn’t admit mistakes.
I wrapped myself in my robe and padded to the door, my bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. Opening up the door slightly to peek around, , I let out a sigh of relief—and disappointment—when I saw who it was.
“Adrianna,” I said, opening the door just enough to let her in.
She stepped inside, her dress from the wedding replaced by a casual sweater and jeans. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she carried a tray of coffee and pastries that smelled like heaven. But her eyes—so sharp, so perceptive—immediately zeroed in on me.
“God, Emilia,” she said, setting the tray down on my dresser. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, closing the door behind her. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.”
She frowned, her gaze softening as she took in my disheveled appearance. “What happened? You said you were feeling sick last night, but I had a feeling there was more to it.”
I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the sash of my robe. Adrianna was my best friend, my confidante, the one person who knew me better than anyone else. But even she didn’t know the full extent of what I’d been dealing with. She didn’t know about Dante, about the tangled web of emotions and danger that had become my life.
“I just... needed some space,” I said finally, avoiding her gaze. “It was a long day, and I guess I overdid it with the champagne.”
Adrianna wasn’t buying it. She crossed her arms, leaning against the dresser as she studied me with that piercing gaze of hers. “You’re lying,” she said bluntly. “I know you, Emilia. Something happened. And if you don’t tell me what it is, I’m going to keep pestering you until you do.”
I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair. “It’s complicated,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start at the beginning,” she said, her tone softening. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”
The kindness in her voice, the genuine concern in her eyes—it was too much. The dam I’d been holding back since last night cracked, and before I knew it, the words were spilling out. I told her about Dante, about the fight, about the bruises and the heartbreak and the way he’d walked away like I was nothing. I told her everything, leaving nothing out, and by the time I was finished, my chest felt hollow, like I’d poured out every last ounce of pain I had left.
Adrianna’s eyes darkened as I finished, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched long enough to make my stomach churn. Finally, she let out a sharp breath, her voice trembling with controlled fury. “That bastard.”
I swallowed hard, guilt tightening my throat. “It’s not that simple,” I said, my voice weak. “Dante’s... he’s dealing with things. He’s not?—”
“Don’t you dare defend him,” she snapped, cutting me off. “He put his hands on you, Emilia. I don’t care what he’s dealing with. He had no right.” She took a step closer, her gaze sharp enough to cut through me. “Do you remember when Professor Kane came after me? When he tried to... proposition me?”
I froze. The memory surged to the surface, vivid and raw despite the years that had passed. Adrianna, shaking as she told me what happened. My chest burning with fury. “Of course I remember.”
Adrianna’s expression hardened, her jaw tightening as she pressed on. “Then you remember how you reacted. You didn’t hesitate for a second. You told me Michael was right to destroy him, that Kane deserved whatever he got.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I remembered every detail. The way my stomach had churned with disgust at the professor’s audacity.
“This isn’t the same,” I whispered, though the words felt hollow even as I said them. “Dante’s not... he’s not Kane.”
“No, he’s worse,” Adrianna shot back, her voice rising. “At least Kane was just some disgusting professor I barely knew. Dante’s supposed to care about you. He’s supposed to love you. And he still hurt you.”
I flinched, my arms wrapping tightly around myself. “It’s not that simple,” I said again, my voice barely audible. “Dante’s dealing with things—things I don’t understand. He’s trying to protect me.”
Adrianna laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Protect you? By leaving bruises on your arm? By walking away when you needed him most? That’s not protection, Emilia. That’s control.”
Her words cut deep, sharper than I wanted to admit. But she wasn’t finished.
“When I told you about Kane,” she said, stepping closer, her voice quieter now but no less pointed, “you didn’t stop to make excuses for him. You didn’t care what his reasons were. You told me Michael should destroy him—and you were right. So why is it so hard for you to see the truth now?”
I didn’t have an answer. My throat felt tight, my chest aching with the weight of her words. She was right—I’d been furious for her. I’d wanted Kane to suffer. But now, when it was my pain, my bruises, I couldn’t summon the same fire. All I could feel was this hollow, aching love for a man who didn’t deserve it.
Adrianna’s jaw tightened, her frustration boiling just under the surface, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she let out a slow breath and took a step back. “I’m not saying you don’t love him,” she said finally, her voice quieter now. “I’m saying you need to figure out if this is the kind of love you’re willing to live with.”
Her words hung in the air, sharp and jagged, cutting deeper the longer I let them settle. Was this the kind of love I was willing to live with? A love that left bruises? A love that hurt?
I didn’t know.
The thought coiled in my gut, twisting tighter with every breath. I wanted to defend him, to tell her she didn’t understand, that Dante was so much more than his anger, his control. But the words stuck in my throat. All I could see were the bruises on my arm, faint but undeniable, and the way his voice had cracked when he told me I mattered more than anything else in his life.
Adrianna was wrong about him. She had to be. Dante wasn’t like Kane. He was mine. And I was his, no matter how much it hurt.
But even as I thought it, doubt crept in, quiet and insidious, uncoiling like smoke in the back of my mind. I didn’t know what scared me more—the idea that she was wrong…or the possibility that she might be right.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Adrianna stayed for a while, keeping me company and distracting me with stories about her honeymoon plans and Michael’s awkward attempts at dancing. But eventually, she had to leave, and I was left alone with my thoughts.
I spent the evening curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around me as I stared blankly at the TV. The bruises on my arm had faded slightly, but they were still there, a faint reminder of the man who had left them. I traced them absently, my mind drifting back to the garden, to the way Dante had looked at me, like he was drowning and I was the only thing keeping him afloat.
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scream and cry and curse his name. But all I could feel was this aching, hollow emptiness, like a piece of me had been ripped away and I didn’t know how to get it back.
As the hours ticked by, the city outside my window came alive with the hum of nightlife, the distant sounds of laughter and music filtering through the glass. But I didn’t move. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I just sat there, staring into the void, wondering if Dante was out there somewhere, feeling the same emptiness I was.
And if he wasn’t...if he was perfectly fine without me...then I didn’t know how I’d survive it.